Falling for the One Who Always Counted
by GoodShipSherlollipop
Summary: When Sherlock asks for Molly's help in helping him fake his death, an unexpected bond forms between them, and they fall in love. During Sherlock's two year absence, Mycroft, unaware of their love connection, decides to play matchmaker and ensure that Molly won't find someone else during Sherlock's absence. Part 6 in my "Realizations of Love Dreams" series.
1. Accepting an Offer of Help

**Author's note 1:** This dream story contains less of the spiritual themes than I usually have (although it is touched upon in the first chapter). Nevertheless, I enjoyed writing it, and I still try to portray the deep love between Sherlock and Molly in this story, so hopefully you'll find it enjoyable.

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"If I wasn't everything you think I am, everything I think I am, would you still want to help me?" He regarded her seriously, stepping even closer, so close he could touch her.

"What do you need?" She repeated the words, looking at him steadily.

 _What do I need?_

"You." Even as Sherlock said the words, he recognised that he needed Molly for more than her help. Her gaze was locked on his, completely open and sincere. Even when he'd been dismissive of her earlier that day in the lab, he had known that she would always be there for him. She had offered her help after all.

Yes, he would definitely need her help in order for his plan to have the best chance at succeeding, but it was more than that. He needed her to know that he wasn't the fraud he was being portrayed as, even if that damaging, false information had not yet publicly come to light.

As if by some unseen hand, he felt himself being guided even closer until he followed the impulse to raise a hand to her cheek and touch her lips with his own. Despite his lack of experience, her mouth felt so warm and inviting, and he detected a trace of strawberry lip gloss. S _o sweet._

It was decidedly better than the kiss he had given her on the cheek at Christmas time.

He was just about to put his other hand up to clasp her face properly and experiment a little more with this wonderful sensation that was spreading through him, when he felt Molly's hands on his chest, pushing him away.

"Sherlock," she said, a little breathlessly, "I...I have no idea what just happened, but I think this is probably not the best time for you to kiss me," adding hastily, "not that it didn't feel wonderful." She looked down shyly.

Sherlock felt a little disappointed at her pushing him away, yet relieved at the same time. Apparently he wasn't complete rubbish at kissing if she had thought it _wonderful_. He forced himself to pay attention to her next words, as she directed her gaze at him once again.

"You just told me you think you're going to die. What's going on? I'm assuming you don't mean literally." Raising an eyebrow, she crossed her arms over her chest and waited expectantly.

Sherlock sighed, and clasped his hands behind his back for fortitude. "Well, obviously I am _hoping_ to survive. At present I'd say my odds for survival are approximately seventeen percent without your intervention. With your assistance, illegal as it may be, your _help_ ," he amended, trying to lessen the formal tone of his words, "I'd estimate that my chances of survival rise to approximately eighty-seven percent."

Sherlock's heart sank when Molly shook her head and said emphatically, "No!"

Of course, it was ridiculous of him to expect she should risk her career in order to help him, but it still hurt.

He could feel the light going out of his eyes. "I'm sorry, Molly. I understand. I shouldn't have tried to bring you into this mess." His shoulders hunched in defeat, and he turned away from her.

A touch on his arm halted his movement, and he turned his head to look at her once more, seeing the shocked look on her face as she said urgently, "No, Sherlock, you're the one who's not understanding. I didn't mean I wouldn't help you. I meant that eighty-seven percent is not good enough. Whatever it is I have to do to help you with this, I will do it, and we need to improve on those odds as well."

He expelled a breath as relief washed over him, and he straightened his shoulders once more, regarding her seriously. "Are you sure? My life may be on the line, but your career may be at risk as well. What I need you to do is, as I mentioned already, not exactly _legal_."

"If helping you means the difference between life and death, I'll do anything. You should know that by now." There was such an earnest expression on her face, and he longed to kiss her again, to thank her, but this was not the time.

Instead, he took her hand and squeezed it gently. "Thank you, Molly."

For the next two hours they sat together in the lab and he outlined his plan. He had envisioned thirteen different scenarios in which Moriarty might try to trap him. Mycroft was already aware of what was going on, although he would still need to apprise him of the final details, and let him know that Molly was on board.

Molly absently twirled a few stray strands of hair around her finger that had come loose from her ponytail. "Sherlock, we are going to need a name for each one of those scenarios. I'm not going to remember by numbers."

"What do you suggest?" he asked, shifting slightly in his seat to face her more fully.

Molly bit her lip and considered for a moment before answering. "How about something that involves saving life. Like Prince Charming did when he kissed Snow White? So, operation _Snow White_ could be one of them."

Sherlock pressed his lips together and rolled his eyes at her absurd notion. "I agree to classifying the scenarios by name. However, I would deem fairytale titles a little inappropriate considering the gravity of the situation."

She furrowed her brow and pursed her lips in what Sherlock thought was the most adorable manner. Why had he not noticed the sweet curve of her upper lip before?

He had to give himself a mental shake when she finally responded. "All right then, how about Operation Lazarus? Operation Resurrection? Or for that matter, Operation Jesus?"

Sherlock frowned at her. "I said no fairytales, Molly. And who the hell is Lazarus anyway?"

Molly put her hands on her hips and glared at him. "Don't mock what you don't know. Jesus raised Lazarus from the dead in the Bible."

Sherlock did a double-take and looked at her in frank astonishment. "You believe in Biblical accounts?"

Molly stiffened her posture. "As a matter fact, I do." Then she added, with a withering look, "And if you still want my help, I'll thank you to not make light of my beliefs."

Sherlock raised his hands in surrender. "Fine, fine. Have it your way. You name the scenarios, and I'll make sure Mycroft knows them as well." This was definitely not a battle he wanted to engage in with Molly.

Her answering smile at winning a small victory nearly melted his heart. How had he not realised before what a beautiful smile she had as well as those eminently kissable lips?

Finally, he stretched and rose to his feet. "I need to speak with Mycroft to get everything else organised as quickly as possible. I only have a few hours left. I'll text you with the final details once I know what's going on."

"So soon?" Molly's voice broke on the second word, and Sherlock saw the fear in her eyes.

"It has to be that way, and technically I'm on the run right now, anyway." He gave her a wry smile and raised a finger to her lips when she opened her mouth, presumably to ask for an explanation. "Not now, Molly. I'll explain later. You need to get home and get some rest before your early shift. I'll be counting on you, and you need to be alert."

She stood as well and slipped her arms around his waist, hugging him tightly.

His arms automatically came around her as well, and when she looked up at him, he had that overwhelming urge to kiss her. After all, it might be his last chance to do so. Even as he leaned down, he felt Molly raising herself on tiptoes to meet him halfway. When their lips met, he felt that same tingling sensation, almost like electricity running through him. It was as if she sparked something within him that he had not known before even existed. They clung together for some moments before Sherlock reluctantly pulled away.

"You really do need to go and get some sleep, while I finish getting things organised," he told her, while tracing a line along her cheek.

He saw her lips tremble slightly as she responded. "Sherlock, where are you going to stay if you have to go through with it? You'll need somewhere to hide."

Sherlock groaned and ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "I've been so caught up in these plans that I hadn't thought that far. I guess I'll ask Mycroft if he can find me a safe house."

" _No_." His eyebrows lifted in surprise at the emphatic nature in which she had spoken the word. She looked at him and said hesitatingly, "You can stay with me. You know where I live. I'll put the spare key under the mat for you." She gave him a weak smile. "Obviously I won't be able to leave the hospital until the end of my shift, and if things go the way you expect, I'm going to have an awful lot of work to do."

He considered the offer for a moment, then nodded. "Very well. Thank you, Molly."

She flashed him a tight-lipped smile. "You're welcome. Be safe, Sherlock." Then she picked up her bag and left the lab.

Sherlock watched her go and spent a few precious moments thinking about the woman who counted. What was it that she saw in him anyway? Why indeed was it that she was able to see him in a way nobody else could?

These were questions for which he had no answer and unfortunately he did not really have the time to even ponder them right now. The clock was ticking in this game of chess he was playing with James Moriarty, and he intended to be the victor.

Sherlock left the lab himself soon afterwards and headed over to see Mycroft. It was a long, sleepless night, but everything was finally arranged to his satisfaction. Mycroft provided him with a disguise, should he need it, a false beard, a beanie and sunglasses. His older brother also approved of the idea to name the scenarios, and Sherlock admitted to him honestly that it was Molly who had suggested it.

Mycroft looked thoughtful and made a rather surprising response. "It appears your pathologist is a rather exceptional woman."

Sherlock folded his arms defensively. "She is not _my_ pathologist," he informed his brother haughtily. _But I think I would like her to be,_ he thought to himself silently.

Mycroft merely quirked his lips. "Nevertheless, she is to be commended in her willingness to help you, brother mine, even as far as allowing you to share her accommodations."

Sherlock shrugged nonchalantly, as he rose to leave, now that everything was in place. His homeless network was on alert as well. They would be standing by, waiting for Mycroft's confirmation text. He turned his head over his shoulder as he prepared to leave and told his brother something he had not planned on saying. "Molly is my _friend_ , Mycroft."

He was just about to exit when Mycroft's voice stopped him. "If all goes as planned I will see that you have some clothes delivered to Miss Hooper's flat, and then we will decide your next move." Sherlock felt his brothers hand on his shoulder and turned.

Much to his surprise Mycroft then said, "Good luck, brother mine," and extended his hand.

"Thank you," he responded gravely, accepting the farewell handshake, then returned to the hospital to wait for John to arrive.

And as dawn broke over London, Sherlock waitedto face niss nemesis.

The game was well and truly on.

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 **Author's note 2:** No canon divergence yet, but the story will weave in and out of canon scenes through Season 3, episode 2. What do you think of it so far?

Did you like the little talk about the naming of the scenarios? I mean, really, how would Sherlock even have named that one Operation Lazarus when he obviously has no clue about the Bible?

Favourites/follows and reviews always appreciated to direct others towards my works.


	2. Operation Lazarus, and Beyond

**Author's note:** Today is my one year anniversary with this site. Just thought I'd share!

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It was rather ironic that the scenario he ended up using was Operation _Lazarus_. He had not really expected that to be the one, because it meant that Moriarty had a death wish. Nevertheless, everything went to plan, and he survived.

With his part in the deception complete, Sherlock donned his disguise and made his way to Molly's flat. He looked around, making sure no one was around to observe his movements, and checked under the mat. The key was indeed there, and he silently hoped that she didn't usually leave it there. If she did, she certainly needed to have better security measures. That would be the first place a burglar would look.

He let himself in, made a cup of tea, and waited. He was familiar with Molly's flat. He had been there on occasion to pick up various body parts she had collected for him. Usually she stopped by Baker Street to do that, but when she was busy, he was quite happy to go to her. She was doing him a favour, after all; helping him with his experiments.

At around four-thirty, he heard the sound of the lock being turned in the front door. Molly was home.

As soon as she closed the door behind her, Sherlock rose from the sofa. "Did everything go all right from your end?" he asked, without preamble.

Molly dropped her handbag onto the table and took off her jacket, hanging it on the coat rack near the door. She expelled a breath and answered, "Yes. The paperwork is all done. You are officially dead, and your body is being sent for immediate cremation." She shook her head in amazement. "I still don't know how Mycroft managed to find a body that fit your description so well."

"I told you about that little girl who screamed when she saw me after I found her at that old factory. I feel sorry for the guy Moriarty hired to impersonate me, but at least his death gave me a chance to live – poetic justice, don't you think?" He flashed her a smile, trying to ease the tension he felt in the air.

"I just thank God you're alive, Sherlock," Molly said, walking towards him and surprising him with a tight hug.

They sat together on the sofa and each recounted what had happened on their end.

Molly prepared a simple dinner for them, and soon afterwards there was an unexpected knock at the door. She glanced at Sherlock who immediately went to her bedroom, pulling the door almost closed behind him. He heard the sound of voices after Molly opened the door, then the sound of the door being closed again.

"Looks like your brother arranged a delivery for you, Sherlock," Molly said, pushing open the door to her bedroom. She held an enormous box, which contained clothes and one of his extra coats, even his blue dressing gown. He had of course, left his usual coat behind at the hospital. It was a dead giveaway if he walked around in it. There were even shaving supplies provided.

Sherlock smiled. Mycroft was nothing if not thorough.

"I'll put these in the wardrobe," Molly told him. She opened the wardrobe doors and pushed some of her clothes aside to make room for his, extracting some empty hangers on which to hang his shirts and his coat. Obviously, leaving his coat on the coat hook would be imprudent in case anyone happened to stop by.

"I don't suppose you would let me sleep in your bedroom, would you?" he asked hopefully. "I know you have a single bed in your spare room, but I tend to like to stretch out a little."

"As long as you're not expecting me to share it with you," she said, with a sidelong glance at him.

Sherlock shrugged casually, even as his insides churned at the thought of having Molly so close to him at night. He had the distinct feeling that if she shared the bed with him, he might be tempted to kiss her again, possibly do more than that.

His feelings for her were becoming uncomfortably evident to himself, all of a sudden. "Well, it is _your_ bed, after all. That would be entirely up to you."

He saw the blush that spread across her cheeks as she responded. "I think I'll sleep in the spare room."

"Do you mind if I take a shower and then turn in for the night?" Sherlock asked tentatively, changing the subject. He had already had a sleepless night after all, and he was finally feeling the effects, a _nd besides, I need to stop thinking about sharing a bed with Molly._

Molly nodded. "By all means. I'll get you what you need." She left the room to find him what he would require for his shower.

Later, Sherlock settled himself into Molly's comfortable bed. He knew what side she slept on, by the faint fragrance on her pillow, and the orientation of her alarm clock. _It is rather fortunate,_ he thought, _she sleeps on the other side of the bed than that to which I am accustomed._

He was not to enjoy a night of restful slumber, however. He was plagued by nightmares of Moriarty mocking him, forcing him to jump without any safety precautions. He woke in the middle of the night, aware that he had called out in anguish, and he could feel Molly was beside him, on top of the covers. He was trembling violently from the force of his emotions.

"You're safe, Sherlock. I'm here," came her soft voice from the darkness.

Still feeling the fear from his nightmare, Sherlock entreated, "Hold me, please. I need you."

He was relieved when, after a few seconds of silent contemplation, Molly complied, getting off the bed, pulling down the duvet enough to slide under the covers and draw close to him. She slid a small arm under his body and cradled his head on her chest, stroking his face gently with her free hand, until he fell asleep. After that, his slumber was untroubled by disturbing dreams.

When Sherlock woke, it was to find himself alone in the bed. He wondered briefly whether he had imagined Molly being there with him, but saw the indentation of the pillow next to him, and noted that the sweet fragrance that was uniquely hers was stronger than it had been when he went to bed. All was quiet in the flat, however. Sherlock got out of bed and went to the kitchen. He immediately spied a note on the table. Of course, she had gone to work, as usual.

In the contents of the box that had been delivered, there had also been a replacement phone as well, and Sherlock used it to talk to Mycroft and start making plans for the future. After his "funeral," he would need to go abroad. His number one priority was to take down Moriarty's network. It would also keep him out of London until such time as his name could be cleared. Mycroft assured him that he would be working behind the scenes to ensure this would eventually happen. Sherlock was aware, however, that it would take time, possibly years.

When Molly came home from work with chips for them to share, she also had news. This she imparted, after they had eaten and seated themselves on the sofa.

"John asked if I could speak at your funeral. I…I said I would. I also decided that afterwards, I need to just stay away from him and Mrs. Hudson. It would be so hard to keep this secret if we kept in regular contact." She blew out a breath and leaned back wearily on the sofa. "I wish you could have told him the truth."

"You know that wasn't possible, Molly," he said patiently, pinching the bridge of his nose absently. "John's grief had to be real. He's not an actor, and he could never have pulled it off if he knew I was alive."

Molly sighed, and twisted her fingers together, looking down at them as she spoke. "I know. It's just so hard, to have to distance myself. I know too that it will be even harder because I'm losing you as well."

She looked at him then, and he saw the pain in her eyes. "You're not losing me, Molly," he said earnestly, gently placing is hand against her cheek and drawing his face closer.

Despite his words, he knew she could be right. He had no idea if and when he would ever return to London. He leaned in and pressed his lips against hers for the third time. This kiss was different. Even as Molly responded, he could feel his own desperation. He didn't want to lose her either. Molly lifted her hands up and put them around his neck, pulling him closer to her. Sensation washed over him as he instinctively coaxed her mouth open, exploring its recesses briefly with his tongue.

A little flicker of flame erupted within him, as he continued to kiss her. For the first time he recognized it, this foreign feeling, as desire. He wanted to be closer to her. He longed to touch her, feel her soft skin beneath his fingertips. _What the hell is she doing to me?_

He dragged his lips away from hers and put his face in his hands. His breathing was ragged, and he could hear she was having some trouble with her own breathing. He voiced the words he had just been thinking. "What are you doing to me, Molly?" _I don't have time for this._

"I…I don't understand what you mean," she said, and he dropped his hands so he could look into her face.

"You make me feel…things I've never felt before. I don't know how to deal with this, these…emotions."

Molly gave a choked laugh. "Having emotions isn't a bad thing, Sherlock. I...well, you know I've had feelings for you for a long time now." She blushed at her admission.

"But you're a woman. Women are expected to be emotional. I'm not like that," he pointed out, trying desperately to understand what was happening to him. His hands clenched convulsively.

"Sherlock," she asked gently, putting a hand over one clenched fist and searching his face, "are you having an emotional response to me?"

He furrowed his brow and considered the question for a moment. "If the feelings of wanting to kiss you, to do more than kiss you are an example of emotional response, I suppose that would be an accurate description of the way I'm feeling. At the very least, I'm feeling a physical response." He gave a wry smile and shifted uncomfortably, unaccustomed to feeling that way.

"Then allow yourself to go with the flow. Set aside everything else and just allow yourself to feel," she suggested, voice still gentle.

"I _can't_ ," he rasped, pulling his hand from her grasp and turning away. "I'm afraid of where it will lead. I'm afraid of losing control." He had never felt so raw, so exposed.

"I'm not afraid," she said softly. "I just want you to kiss me again."

It was as if a dam had burst inside him at her words. He turned back to Molly with a groan and pulled her into himself. He began to kiss her again, this time urgently, hungrily. He could feel the blood pumping in his veins at an accelerated rate. His mouth moved to kiss her cheeks before pressing a kiss to the base of her throat, and she let out a little gasp of pleasure, throwing her head back, as if in invitation to allow him further exploration. He wanted nothing more than to undress her, lay her on her bed and discover what it felt like to truly be with a woman. He'd never experienced this with any other woman, and he knew it was not simply desire that consumed him. Molly meant too much to him, and he could not allow himself to be overwhelmed by physical desire, at least - _not yet._

He pulled away again, and ran a hand through his hair. "I can't do this Molly. I've never felt like this before - I want you. I...want to be with you, and I mean physically, intimately, but I can't. Not when I have to leave soon."

"I understand, Sherlock." Her hand touched his arm. "It isn't in my nature to give myself to someone. In fact," and here she looked up at him shyly, "I've never been intimate with a man either. But I could so easily lose myself in you, and I have to tell you why."

Sherlock could hardly believe what he was hearing. Was she really saying she had never been with a man, just as he had never been with a woman?

Her next words confirmed it. "I've never been tempted to give myself to anyone before, because I've never been in love." He had to strain to hear what came afterwards. "But that was before I met you."

"Are you telling me you love me?" His eyes bored into the coffee coloured depths of her own.

She blushed. "I just want to be honest with you. You don't have to love me back. But yes, I love you. If you cared for me, if...if you wanted me to, I'd be willing to wait for you, until you came back, I mean."

He shook his head and took one of her small hands in his much larger one. "I couldn't ask you to do that, Molly. I have no idea how long I will be gone. It could be years."

"I don't care about how long you will be gone," she responded with a defiant set to her jaw, and her hand gripped his tightly. "I just want to know - would you _want_ me to wait for you?"

Sherlock looked into her liquid gaze. She was extraordinary. _This woman would be willing to wait for me?_

Then he knew the right answer, because it was what he wanted himself. "Yes, Molly. I want you to wait for me." He allowed himself a faint smile at the relieved expression on her face. "I will tell Mycroft that I need to be able to keep in touch with you somehow, even if it is only periodically. Perhaps I can convince him to keep you updated on my movements, and he can let me know how you are doing."

His heart lightened at the idea of coming home to this woman, one day, and their lips met again in a soft kiss of promise.

The next couple of days passed in a blur. Sherlock had spoken with Mycroft, who seemed rather discombobulated at his request, but amenable at the same time. He agreed to be a go-between for them. Sherlock had been careful to just say that he and Molly simply wanted to stay in touch as friends. Suggesting there was anything more to it than that would have made for some awkward conversation that Sherlock simply did not wish to deal with.

As for Sherlock himself, he spent whatever time he and Molly were together, when she was not working, holding her, kissing her. She had slept in the same bed with him and he had held her close at night, committing that time to memory. He wanted to make love to her, felt those urges that had never plagued him in the past, but he pushed them back.

He was determined that if they were to have a future together, he needed to be free, for his name to be cleared, and Moriarty's network to be disbanded. Saying goodbye to Molly before the funeral was the hardest thing, though. They clung together for several minutes, kissing passionately.

Finally, he felt ready to say the words that had been hovering near the surface. He traced a line across her cheek and said, "I love you, Molly."

She broke down then, and wept, holding him tightly as her body was wracked with sobs he wasn't sure were of anguish or joy. Finally, she raised her head and released her hold. "Be safe, my love."

Sherlock suddenly had an idea. "Molly, I have an idea of how I can contact you myself while I'm gone, but still keep us both safe from any potential repercussions."

She looked at him searchingly, through eyes that were wet from the tempest that had consumed her. "How?"

He drew in his breath, then explained, taking her hand and rubbing her palm with his thumb. "If you ever get a text from an unknown number - if I can buy one of those cheap, throwaway phones, I'll simply text one-four-three."

"One-four-three?" she repeated uncomprehendingly, raising a brow.

His lips twitched, as he suppressed a smile at his own ingenuity. "Yes. It's the amount of letters in each word of the phrase, _I love you._ "

Comprehension dawned on her face. "I like that." She pursed her lips for moment in concentration, then said, "I'll text you back with four-three-three." Her lips then curved upwards.

This time he was the one to quirk an eyebrow questioningly.

"Love you too," she explained softly, and his breath caught at the little note of passion in her voice.

He smiled at his Molly, his woman. "Sounds like a plan." They kissed once more, a sweet kiss that held a promise for one another. Molly was to leave first for the funeral, and Sherlock would follow soon afterwards. He was planning to attend it in disguise, before heading off to Mycroft's to stay for a few days in order to finalize things before leaving London. "I'll stay in touch until I have to leave the country at least," he told her, caressing her soft cheek.

Molly nodded, and then she was gone, off to say goodbye to John and Mrs. Hudson as well as himself, of course.

Sherlock watched as the door closed behind her, wishing desperately that their separation would not be an extended one, but the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach told him otherwise. Taking down Moriarty's network would take a considerable amount of time. He was sure of it.

With a heavy sigh, he made his own preparations to leave Molly's flat and those happy memories – possibly, for the last time.

* * *

 **Author's note:** So, yeah, Sherlock "got a clue" a little earlier in this story than he does in the series LOL. Don't you wish that had been the case in actual fact?

I hope you like where this is going, and that you are looking forward to seeing what comes next, as Mycroft deals with his brother's absence.

Incidentally, I have heard the one-four-three thing used as a quick way to text _I love you_ , so I thought it would be a cute addition to show a way that they could keep in contact. It's nice to imagine that they might have kept in contact, although I don't think it really happened in the show. If they had stayed in touch, I don't think Molly would have become engaged to Tom. What do you think?


	3. The Long Absence

Mycroft looked over at Sherlock, who was sitting in an armchair, fingers tapping the arms aimlessly, and staring morosely into space.

He folded his arms and stood in front of his brooding brother. "I allowed you to have a day to _grieve_ your own death after the funeral. You need to get back to work. It is imperative we continue our research on the best way to dismantle Moriarty's network."

Sherlock glared at him. "I'm not grieving my _death_ , Mycroft. I'm worried about Molly."

Mycroft furrowed his brow, not understanding his brother's sudden propensity for sentiment. "Miss Hooper is a strong, independent woman. She will be fine. She delivered an excellent eulogy for you yesterday."

"I know," responded Sherlock tersely, thankfully ceasing his irritating tapping with his fingers to cross his own arms over his chest and lean forward slightly. "I'm concerned about the way she decided to cut ties with John and Mrs. Hudson so that she isn't tempted to tell them the truth."

"That would seem to me a most sensible idea," Mycroft asserted. Then he added, a little more gently, seeing that Sherlock was now staring off into the distance again, sporting a frown on his face, "Sherlock, I have promised to look in on her during your absence as you requested. I have also agreed to keep her apprised of your activities. That will have to suffice."

Sherlock looked at him directly and said slowly, "She plays chess, you know. You could use that as a pretext to see her once a month or so, you know, befriend her. She doesn't have many friends, and with John and Mrs. Hudson out of the picture, it would be nice if you would take on that responsibility."

Mycroft rolled his eyes. _Why is Sherlock so concerned about a woman he claims is just a friend?_ he wondered silently. _Could there be more to it than he is revealing?_

Aloud though, he only said, "Very well, brother mine. If it will make you happy, and you will get back to work now, I shall visit her monthly for that purpose."

Sherlock nodded, looking slightly mollified. "Thank you." Then he narrowed his eyes and gave Mycroft a hard look. "And stop calling her Miss Hooper. She has earned the title of Doctor - _use_ it."

"Protective, aren't you?" remarked Mycroft mildly. He was a little taken aback at the acidity in Sherlock's tone. He was getting the idea that Sherlock's feelings for Molly went much deeper than friendship, even if the younger man had not said it in so many words. He was entirely too concerned about her.

Sherlock shrugged casually. "She helped me immensely, and she's my friend. I owe her a lot."

"So you have told me several times," responded the older Holmes with a quirk to his lips, and Sherlock gave him a sullen look, but returned to working with Mycroft to make plans.

For the next few days Mycroft noticed that Sherlock would be doing more than research on his laptop. He would sometimes take out the new phone and send a quick text. He assumed the texts were to Molly. It was unlikely Sherlock would feel the need to speak with anyone else who knew he was still alive.

At one point, Mycroft, after observing Sherlock once again using the phone and sending off a surreptitious text, asked, "You do know that you cannot take that phone with you, don't you? We will only be able to keep in touch via special communications I will set up."

"Of course I know that. I'm not a bloody idiot," Sherlock responded tersely, with a roll of his eyes, shoving the phone back into his pocket.

A few days later, all the arrangements had been made for Sherlock's departure, and the plans were in place for him to start taking apart Moriarty's network one piece at a time. Mycroft himself would also be working on clearing Sherlock's name. Moriarty's trap had been a well planned and executed one indeed. Mycroft estimated it would take as long to unravel the threads of the lies that made up Richard Brook's story, as it would to do the same for his international network of spies and associates.

The last thing Sherlock did before boarding the plane was to hand Mycroft the phone. "Feel free to look at the messages, if you must, to see I have not done anything to compromise my future mission." He pressed his lips together and gave Mycroft a short nod of farewell, then turned and climbed the stairs into the plane.

Mycroft watched the aircraft taxi down the runway and become airborne, before glancing at the phone still in his hand. He had to admit to himself he was curious, so he turned it on and looked at the messages. There were messages to only one number, which he knew to belong to Molly Hooper, as he had expected.

The messages were very innocuous, carefully designed to reveal nothing that could reveal information that Sherlock was the sender in any way, nor feelings of sentiment. It was just casual conversation between friends, mostly Sherlock complaining about being bored.

Curiously though, each text conversation ended with Sherlock writing three numbers - 143, with Molly's response being 433. Some code apparently concocted by the two of them.

Approximately three weeks after Sherlock's departure, a month since his "death," Mycroft knocked on the door to Molly's flat one evening.

She looked at him in some surprise as he explained, "Ah, Miss - I mean _Doctor_ Hooper. I am pleased you are home. Before his _death_ ," he stressed the last word, on the off-chance that anyone should be listening, "my brother mentioned that you are quite the chess aficionado. I thought perhaps we might enjoy a game once a month and reminisce about happier times with my brother."

"Of course. That would be lovely," Molly said, blinking a little in her confusion, but moving aside so he could enter. He was carrying a portable chess board, in the event she had no board of her own.

"You can put that on the table. I have my own chess board," she informed him crisply, before making tea for both of them.

As Mycroft and Molly got to know each other better over their shared games of chess, he realised what a good match she would be for his younger brother. She was extremely intelligent, very observant about things herself, and she asked intelligent questions as well about Sherlock's movements abroad, without trying to extract more information from Mycroft than he was willing to give.

She never indicated at any time there was anything more than friendship between Sherlock and herself, But Mycroft had a vague suspicion that something had transpired between them in the few days Sherlock had stayed with her before the funeral. It was none of his business, though, and Mycroft was not one to pry.

On one occasion, a few months after they had begun their monthly sessions of chess, when they were in the middle of a game, Molly's phone pinged, and she answered it.

"Excuse me," she said, picking up her phone and looking at it. She smiled and pressed a few keys on the screen before setting her phone back down.

"Nothing urgent, I take it, Molly?" he asked. He had been calling her Molly for several months now, at her request. She also called him Mycroft, and they had, rather surprisingly, developed an almost brother/sister type friendship. This was definitely something new for Mycroft, but he felt a certain _responsibility_ for her, a protectiveness, especially in light of the way she had helped his brother.

"Nope," she responded, popping her _p_. It was rather amusing to hear her say the word that way, and he wondered if she had picked up that particular habit from Sherlock. "It was just something I've been waiting for, for a while. A text from an old friend, as it were."

Mycroft noticed that he was able to win their chess game easily that day, as she seemed rather distracted following that text.

On other occasions though, Mycroft found that Molly was able to easily keep pace with him, even beating him approximately one third of the time.

"Who taught you to play chess, Molly?" he asked one day, after a particularly brutal game, in which she had narrowly defeated him.

She gave him a rather wistful smile. "It was my father, actually. He really enjoyed strategy games, and he enjoyed logic problems, all types of puzzles. He loved mysteries as well. I inherited quite a collection of Agatha Christie novels from him. He died from pancreatic cancer when I was only eighteen. I miss him." She sighed a little.

This was more information than Molly had volunteered in the past, and it intrigued Mycroft. The more he got to know her, the more perfect she seemed for his brother. He decided, if and when the time arose, when Sherlock's mission was complete and his name was cleared, that he would do everything within his power to make sure they got together. He had always told Sherlock that caring was not an advantage, but he suddenly thought that Molly would be a steadying influence for him, someone who might be able to help his brother stay centred.

Selfishly, Mycroft also thought it might be good if Sherlock were to be the one to settle down and have a family of his own. It was irksome that their mother constantly plagued _him_ about being a bachelor, and the fact that she, at her advanced age, was still not a grandmother, while all her friends had many grandchildren to coddle. Oh yes, Sherlock, Molly and a brood of children would be a very satisfactory solution indeed.

* * *

It was at about the one and a half year mark of Sherlock's absence that Mycroft began to grow worried. Sherlock was deep undercover in Serbia, working on infiltrating the final known-of cell of Moriarty's international network.

Mycroft had informed Molly that Sherlock would be out of contact completely at this time, and she was understandably concerned as well. However, Mycroft was also wondering if Molly was growing restless at Sherlock's extended absence. What if she were to find someone else while Sherlock was away?

It was time to take action, to make sure Molly remained free to pursue a relationship with Sherlock when he returned. At least, that was what Mycroft was hoping would happen.

To that end, he placed an advertisement in the newspaper, requesting that people apply for the position of bodyguard for a young woman. Mycroft made a plan to tell Molly that rumours had emerged in the underworld that she had had a relationship with Sherlock, and that she would need a bodyguard, or at least a fake boyfriend to dispel the rumours.

After several unsuccessful interviews, Mycroft found the perfect man for the job. His name was Tom, and he bore a passing resemblance to Sherlock, which Mycroft thought would be a good reminder to Molly about his brother. She would undoubtedly see the resemblance, and Mycroft hoped it would make her miss Sherlock even more.

The best part about the whole situation was the fact that Tom was gay, so there was no fear that he would fall in love with Molly, nor she him. It was the perfect plan. Of course, there was no way to let Sherlock know what was happening at this time, as he was incommunicado.

Mycroft showed up at Molly's door with Tom on his next monthly visit to see her.

"Molly, I have assigned you a young man, who will be posing as your boyfriend cum bodyguard," he explained to the surprised woman.

"Why do I need a bodyguard?" she questioned, raising an eyebrow at him.

Obviously, Tom was not privy to Sherlock's activities, so Mycroft hedged. "There are certain, ah, persons of interest who may come after you due to some of your previous…activities."

He saw the look of comprehension dawn in Molly's eyes. Of course, he knew of no such persons of interest, he was merely protecting his _brother's_ interests in keeping Molly from falling for someone else, but she didn't need to know that.

"Oh, okay then," she said hesitantly, giving the young man beside Mycroft a surprised look. She had obviously noticed his resemblance to Sherlock. "I suppose you had both better come in."

For the next hour, Mycroft outlined the cover story for Molly and Tom. Presumably they had met at a pub on a weekend and he had asked her out. Things would progress of coarse from there.

"And how long must we keep up this pretense?" asked Molly, biting her lip and looking rather worried.

Mycroft pondered her question. If things went well in Serbia, Sherlock would emerge from his undercover mission at almost the same time as his name would be cleared. "Just a few months, I imagine."

Twenty three months and two weeks after Sherlock had left London, Mycroft popped in to see Molly. He had recommended Molly and Tom pretend to be engaged to keep the extended ruse from being discovered. It seemed the next logical step. Molly had reluctantly agreed, and was now wearing a fake engagement ring, courtesy of Mycroft. Tom had no problem with that. He was being well paid, and his unsuspecting parents really liked Molly, which suited his purposes. When he wasn't with her, he was free to be with his own secret boyfriend, unbeknownst to his family.

Mycroft had not specified how long the engagement should last because he felt sure Molly would tell Sherlock the truth immediately once he returned, and they could then decide what to do. It that didn't happen, Mycroft would simply say his sources had been in error and there was no longer any threat to Molly in regard to her former possible relationship with Sherlock

"Are we playing chess today then?" Molly asked, as Mycroft entered her flat.

Mycroft shook his head. "I'm afraid not, Molly. I wanted to stop in to let you know I have to leave the country immediately. Things have not gone exactly as planned, and it looks as though I will have to find a way to extract my little brother from Serbia. Fortunately, it appears we have enough information to finish the mission regardless. I wanted to let you know too that everything is in place to clear his name as well. I expect the news will come out within the next week or so."

"Oh, thank God," she said sincerely, clasping her hands together. "So Sherlock should be able to return to London and resume his former life?"

Mycroft was pleased. It appeared Molly still cared a great deal about Sherlock. "That is what I am hoping."

Mycroft was _not_ pleased about having to go into the field to recover his brother, being used to delegating others to do his bidding, but he did his duty. This was definitely a task he could not afford to have go wrong. His brother's life was on the line.

By the time he was able to infiltrate his own way into the terrorist cell, Sherlock had already been enduring a week's worth of torture, being beaten constantly and deprived of food and sleep. He was a haggard, long-haired mess of a man, and it was a significant relief to Mycroft that he was able to pull off the extraction successfully, as Serbian authorities moved in to apprehend the members of the terrorist cell.

The news broke about Sherlock's innocence before the pair returned to London. Mycroft was a little disappointed when Sherlock's first priority, after being cleaned up with a haircut and shave, was to see John, rather than Molly. He had planned to tell Sherlock about Molly's fake engagement, but decided not to. It would do well for Sherlock to think Molly had moved on without him. Perhaps it might evoke an emotional response in him and force him to realise how special she was.

He was curious though, to see where in Sherlock's priorities Molly lay, so he decided to ask a question of Sherlock before he left to see John. "Are you planning on seeing anyone else after John, this evening?"

Sherlock shrugged casually. "I guess I'll see how things go with him. If I have time I might go and see Lestrade and Molly. Of course, I'll have to go and visit Mrs. Hudson, see if I can get my old flat back."

Mycroft frowned. Sherlock hadn't even put Molly second on his priority list, but third, after the detective inspector.

Just before Sherlock left, Mycroft handed him the phone he had confiscated two years earlier. "You might be wanting this. Good luck with John, and with all your other little visits."

Sherlock took the phone and nodded. "Thanks, Mycroft."

Then Mycroft watched as his brother left to reclaim his life. He earnestly hoped it would be a life that included Molly Hooper as more than just a friend.

* * *

 **Author's note:** I hope you enjoyed seeing Mycroft's POV in this chapter.

Credit for this chapter must go to reader Sammykatz. She suggested to me that it would be interesting to see a story in which Mycroft and Molly became friends. She also suggested that it would be interesting if Molly and Tom's engagement was a fake one, and that he was her bodyguard instead. So I decided to do something close to that, and have him be a fake boyfriend/fiancé. I also thought it would be interesting to add a little twist about Tom actually being gay LOL.

I am trying to weave the story somewhat into canon, so there will be those scenes from TEH coming up in the next chapter. What do you think is going to happen in regard to Sherlock and Molly? Will he be upset about her being "engaged"? I enjoy hearing the deductions of my readers, so don't be shy!


	4. Reclaiming a Life, or Two

**Author's note:** Three chapters to go. I hope to continue the once weekly publishing of this story, My mum just arrived on Monday from Australia and is staying until after Christmas, so it will depend on what my schedule is like and spending time with her. Just a heads up and thank you for your patience.

Thanks again for those of you kind enough to follow/favourite/review my work. That support means so much to me and inspires me to keep writing. If I am a little slower to respond than usual, again, that is because I will probably have less time to do so while my mum is here, but have no fear, I _always_ respond to my readers (even the ones who don't want to hear from me and never respond back)!

* * *

Sherlock winced a little as he settled back into the seat of the car Mycroft had provided for him. The wounds from his recent beating still ached terribly, although he would never have said so to Mycroft. Although he had acted as if it was no big deal that Mycroft had saved him, he knew quite well without his brothers intervention he would have been a dead man.

In those miserable months in Serbia, Sherlock had had a lot of time to reflect about things. Being completely out of touch with everyone, especially Molly, had been very difficult. He wondered if Mycroft had continued to keep in touch with her and cursed himself for forgetting to ask. Of course, if he had done so, Mycroft might have suspected he had developed strong feelings for Molly and teased him for his earlier notions on sentiment. It was bound to come out anyway, but he preferred it to be on his own terms, when he revealed that he and Molly were together.

The old adage, "absence makes the heart grow fonder," was certainly true in his case when it came to Molly. The longer Sherlock had been away, the more his heart ached for her. Those few times in which he had managed to procure phones so that he could text those simple numbers and receive a response from her had been heartening. But two years was a long time, especially when you had not had any type of contact in the past six months.

Despite his casual words to Mycroft of whom he was going to see, Sherlock had every intention of visiting Molly at the end of her shift, as soon as he had seen John. But there was something he needed to do even before he met with his friend.

Sherlock looked out the window of the car and saw what he was looking for. He leaned forward to speak to the driver. "Let me out here, please. I need to take care of something. I shouldn't be long."

The driver nodded and pulled over to the side of the road, and Sherlock got out of the car. He made his way into the small jewellery shop.

There was only one clerk in the shop and he approached him.

The man looked at him and gasped. "You look just like that man, Sherlock Holmes, who was in the papers, the one who was just cleared after being made out to be a fraud. But he committed suicide off a building, didn't he?"

Sherlock supposed there was no getting around it. He was going to have to use a credit card which had his name on it anyway. "Reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated," he said with a half smile. "However, my return is not yet public, so there is fifty quid in it if you keep your mouth shut about it."

"Of course, of course," the man said. "What brings you to my establishment?"

"I am looking for an engagement ring. I do not have much time, however, so please show me what you have immediately."

"Yes, sir," the man said, showing him to a display case in which were many diamond rings in various sizes, styles and settings.

Sherlock's eyes skimmed over them and his eyes alighted on a heart-shaped solitaire. What could be more appropriate than a heart for the woman he loved?

"Show me that one," he ordered, and the man took it from the display case.

Sherlock looked at it, examining the size of the ring and picturing Molly's finger. _Yes_ , he decided, _it should be a perfect fit_. He didn't even bother looking at the price. "I'll take it."

He handed over his credit card and a fifty pound note to the clerk, who completed the purchase. Then he put the velvet box containing the ring into his pocket and left the jewellery shop. He returned to the car and was shortly at his destination, the little restaurant where John had a reservation for the evening.

 _Well, that didn't go as planned_ , Sherlock thought ruefully, sometime later, holding the tissue to his still bleeding nose as John and his girlfriend drove away in a taxi. Sherlock was truly glad to see that his friend had moved on, but still rather disconcerted about that awful moustache. Of course, it might have been better to not go on about that, seeing as it had led to that head butt from John.

Oh well, Mary had promised to talk John around, and he was certain she would be able to do so. She seemed a fine woman. For now, it was time to go see the woman he loved.

Sherlock made his way to St. Bart's, having donned a beanie and sunglasses to hide his identity, and cleaned himself up in a bathroom, then went upstairs to wait for Molly to finish her shift.

In the locker room, he stood out of sight and removed the sunglasses and hat, then ruffled his hair. It was so nice to have his hair back to normal after growing it out during his mission so he would blend in better.

His heartbeat accelerated at his first sight of Molly in two years, when she came into the locker room. He positioned himself so that she would see him in the mirror.

When she turned to him with a welcoming smile, seeing her properly was like a dying man seeing an oasis in the desert, he drank in her appearance. Her hair was in a side braid and his heart lurched. God, how he had missed her.

Her smile faded and she looked at him properly. "Sherlock! Is it really you? And what happened to your face?"

He touched his split lip a little self-consciously. "It's me, Molly. Slight altercation with John I'm afraid. He didn't take the news very well about me not actually being dead." He managed a wry smile, then immediately winced as it stretched and pulled at the barely congealed blood on his lip.

She came to him and wrapped her arms around his waist. "I missed you," she said, resting her head against his chest. He was certain she would be able to feel the way his heart was beating faster than normal.

"I missed you too," he answered, putting his arms around her as well and holding her tightly. He thought about the ring in his pocket. He would have liked to propose then and there, but he wanted to do it right. He needed to take care of a few things first, then he wanted to spend a day with her and propose at the end of it.

"Molly, I just wanted to let you know I'm back. I don't have time to talk right now because I have things to take care of. But I will be in touch soon, I promise."

He pulled back from her and bent down to brush her lips with his own. Her lips felt even better than he remembered. He couldn't wait to kiss her properly, but now was not the time.

"There's something I need to tell you, Sherlock," she said, biting her lip. If she wasn't careful, she was going to end up with her own split lip.

He shook his head, and gently disengaged from her. "I'm sorry Molly, it will have to wait. I'll see you soon."

She seemed a little disappointed, but he really did need to see Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson before the news of his return was made public. He had a feeling that the fifty quid he had given that jewellery shop clerk would not be enough to keep his mouth shut.

Within a few days, life was back to normal it seemed, except for the fact that John no longer resided at Baker Street and would still not talk to him, and Mycroft had discussed the latest case, about a planned terrorist attack on London, and he had some leads.

Over a game of Operation, Mycroft asked a cryptic question, after confirming that Sherlock had revealed himself to Molly.

"Did she tell you her news?"

Sherlock looked at his brother, lifting his brows in confusion. "News?" Then he added, "Well, actually, she did say she had something to tell me, but I didn't have time at that moment to discover what it was."

Mycroft nodded, and his lips quirked. "Ah, never mind then. I guess you will be talking with her soon again?"

Sherlock ran a hand through his hair. "As a matter fact, I thought I'd ask her to be my assistant today, seeing as John will not talk to me."

Mycroft raised an eyebrow at him. "Just an assistant, then?"

Sherlock flushed. Had his brother guessed he felt more than friendship for Molly? He still wasn't ready to reveal that fact, at least not until Molly had agreed to marry him. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Mycroft shrugged and let the subject drop.

After Mycroft had gone, Sherlock sent a text to Molly, asking for her to come over. While he waited, he continued to look at the various photographs and information pertaining to his case. He soon tired of that, however, and went to his front window to watch for her arrival.

When she came walking down the street towards the front door, her hair back in its usual no-nonsense ponytail, he was filled with anticipation. He remained staring out the window, trying to compose himself, even as he heard Mrs. Hudson let her in. When she came into the flat through the open door, and he turned, his heart leapt. His plan was to have her work as his assistant, then take her out to eat and propose in his favourite fish shop. Well, perhaps a fish shop was not the most romantic venue for a proposal, but Joe's Fish shop had the best chips in London.

She jumped the gun a little, however, thinking he was inviting her to dinner. Then she looked embarrassed.

He took her gloved hand and squeezed it. "One step at a time, Molly. Will you be my assistant today?"

She furrowed her brow at him. "Alright, but I needed to tell you..."

She was interrupted by the sound of the doorbell.

Sherlock dropped her hand. "Oh, my first client's here. Can it wait till later?"

She seemed a little disappointed at once more being put off from telling him her news, and she pressed her lips together. "I suppose it will have to."

He gave her an apologetic smile, and brought a chair over for her to sit on, next to his own.

Molly proved to be a very able assistant, especially when it came time to check out Lestrade's latest cace, which turned out to be a hoax. Sherlock was quite impressed with how quickly she made her own deductions about it, and perhaps even a little jealous that she could match him so well. They were so in sync, that Sherlock even finished a sentence with her, commenting on the fact that the skeleton could not be more than six months old.

As they visited Shilcottt, the train guy, Sherlock kept glancing at Molly. He was anxious for things to be finished with Shilcott so they could leave and he could take her to dinner and propose. She kept glancing at him as well. It was as if they had a little, delicious secret, just between them.

When they left the train enthusiast's flat, Sherlock was rather surprised when, after he invited her out for chips as he preceded her down the stairs, Molly asked what the day had been about. Surely that was obvious?

However, he told her the truth. He told her Moriarty had slipped up in discounting Molly as the most important person to him.

He was about to repeat his question about chips, when his gaze lowered and he spotted a ring on the third finger of her left hand, and his mouth ran dry. Suddenly he realised that this was what she must have been wanting to mention. She had moved on without him, after all.

He heaved a sigh, and forced the words out. "But you can't do this again, can you?"

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about," Molly said, twisting her fingers together.

His lips tightened, and he tried to push away the feeling of nausea that was coming over him, as his stomach clenched. "There's no need. I understand perfectly. I hope you'll be very happy, Molly Hooper. You deserve it."

"Wait," she pleaded, touching his arm. "You don't understand!"

He shrugged off her hand, wishing the floor would swallow him, even as he felt his heart breaking. "I understand all too well. Things happen. We were not in contact for six months. We made no promises." He couldn't keep the note of anguish from his voice.

"Please stop talking and listen to me!" Molly demanded, stamping her foot, and he looked at her, amazed. She had never talked to him in that way before, nor shown signs of having any kind of bad temper. He supposed the least he could do was listen. He straightened his posture, clasping his hands behind his back.

"Very well. I'm listening."

To his great surprise, Molly took off the ring, dropped it on the floor, then deliberately stepped on it, grinding her heel over it. With astonishment, he watched as she bent down, then stood again and muttered to herself in a frustrated tone, "Damn, it must be a cubic zirconia, not glass." She extended her hand to show him the slightly distorted ring within.

"The point is, it's not real, Sherlock," she said in a rather desperate tone. "Your brother said there was a threat to me, that there were rumours about you and me being together before you died, and that my life was potentially in danger. He assigned me a man named Tom to act as my boyfriend a few months ago. Then, Mycroft gave me this fake ring a month ago, and said it was necessary to keep up the ruse."

Sherlock looked at the ring and frowned. "Mycroft did that? Even if people knew about us, why would they seek retribution against you after my death, and why didn't he tell me?"

Molly shrugged her shoulders helplessly. "I have no idea. Hearing you say that, I suppose the whole thing does sound rather far fetched, but that is what he told me, so I went along with it. You know your brother, he likes to get his own way."

Sherlock cocked an eyebrow at that. Apparently Molly and his brother had become quite friendly while he was gone. He felt a slight tug of jealousy at the thought, until Molly continued speaking, with a pleading look in her eyes.

Please believe me, Sherlock. When I said I would wait for you I was telling the truth. I…I still love you. I always will." She slipped the ruined ring into her trouser pocket.

Relief washed over him and without another word he took her in his arms. Their lips met in a fierce kiss of longing that had been two years in the making. He luxuriated in the feel of her, and the softness of her skin, as his hands moved to clasp her face gently and stroke her cheeks with his thumbs. They were both gasping for air when he pulled back from her. "God, how I missed you, sweetheart."

She smiled at him and it was like sunshine bursting through the clouds. Sherlock was sure Molly had the most beautiful smile of any woman he had ever met. He didn't want to ever lose her, and impulsively he decided to forget all those dinner plans.

He saw her eyes widen with surprise when he dropped to one knee and reached into his coat pocket, pulling out the box from within. He opened it and extended it to her.

"Molly, this is not the way I intended to do things, but seeing that ring on your finger made me insanely jealous. I can't bear the thought of ever losing you to another man. Will you wear a ring from me instead, a real one this time? Will you marry me?" Then he added, as a smile played about his lips, "Oh, and I suppose I should just make sure you are in no doubt - I still love you too."

He barely had time to get back onto his feet before she flung herself at him, reaching her hands to link her fingers behind his neck and saying passionately, "Yes, Sherlock, yes. Of course I'll marry you."

His arms encircled her waist, and he awkwardly extracted the ring from the small box before bending his head again to give Molly a brief kiss. Then he pulled back, raising the ring so she could see it, before asking with a lopsided grin, "Do you want this on your finger, or not?"

She gave him another dazzling smile and extended her hand. He slid it onto her finger and was relieved that the ring was a perfect fit, as he had hoped.

Molly looked down at it and whispered, "It's so beautiful. I love that it's a heart." Then she looked up at him and asked, "When did you have time to even buy a ring? You've only been back in London for a few days."

Sherlock's hand came to caress her cheek. "I bought it before I went to see John and reveal to him that I was alive. It was in my pocket when I saw you at the hospital. But I'm not such an arse as to propose in such an impersonal environment." Then he looked around him at the stairwell of the unprepossessing building in which they stood and huffed out a breath. "Well, apparently I _am_ an arse after all. This is no better."

Molly giggled and raised her own hand to lightly brush her fingers through the curls at the nape of his neck. "Do you think I care about that?"

He traced the curve of her lips with his thumb, before dropping his hand to say, "Well, let's pick up some chips on the way and go back to my flat. I think we need to make plans." He paused, then continued, tightening his lips into a thin line. "I also need to talk to my brother and ask him why he didn't tell me what was going on." Oh yes, Mycroft had some explaining to do

After picking up chips from Joe's Fish Shop, Sherlock and Molly went back to Baker Street. Sherlock was looking forward to spending time with her, but unfortunately, his plans were disrupted by a surprise visit from John's (he heard her say it to Mrs. Hudson as she rushed up the stairs) fiancée, Mary.

When Mary told him what was going on, Sherlock went into action immediately. He had to save his friend. "I'll be back," he told Molly, who had walked over to the door to hear what was going on.

Even as they rode on the motorcycle to rescue John, Mary yelled over the roar of the engine, "Who is that woman you were with when I came to ask for help?"

"Molly, the woman who helped me fake my death," he yelled back, trying to calculate the quickest route to the church where John was apparently in mortal peril, if the continuing texts to Mary's phone where to be believed.

"She must be pretty special, to have helped you," Mary said loudly again.

"She certainly is," he responded, smiling, despite the gravity of the situation with John. "I'd be happy to tell you all about it, but I think we need to concentrate on saving your fiancé right now!"

Thank God, he was able to get to John in time and pull him out of the bonfire. Fortunately, John's injuries seemed to only be superficial - a slight head wound and minor smoke inhalation. Mary assured Sherlock she would be able to take care of John. John also seemed quite grateful, and Sherlock felt sure his friend was ready to forgive him.

While Sherlock was on his way home, he texted Mycroft. _Come to Baker Street if convenient. If not, come anyway._

He knew Mycroft would come. A message like that always required an immediate response.

He returned to Baker Street and was pleased that Molly was still there, waiting for him.

Is everything okay?" she asked, giving him a concerned look. "You smell of smoke."

"Everything's fine. I just had to save John from a bonfire, no big deal. Mary's taking care of him. Minor injuries only." He wrinkled his nose. He did indeed smell of smoke. He really needed a shower.

As if Molly could tell what he was thinking, she suggested, "You should take a shower, Sherlock."

The corners of his mouth twitched upwards. They were so perfectly in sync, even when it came to their thought processes. "Exactly what I was thinking. I texted Mycroft to come over when I was on my way home. If he arrives before I'm out of the shower, let him in. I intend to have words with my brother."

"That sounds rather ominous," Molly commented, pursing her lips.

"It is," he assured her with a grim smile. "I intend to find out what kind of game he was playing at, with all this boyfriend nonsense, and threats to your life. I believe that he was not being quite forthcoming with you."

She looked at him in surprise. "You think Mycroft had an ulterior motive for the whole fake boyfriend then?"

His expression darkened further. "Actually, I'm certain of it. For one thing, there is nobody who would ever have had any reason to suspect we were in a relationship. Moriarty himself dismissed you as unimportant. For another, as I said earlier, it makes no sense that someone would target you when I have presumably been dead for the past two years, unless they had ascertained I was still alive. If someone wished to extract information from you, a fake boyfriend would not act as a deterrent anyway." He gave her an intense look. "However, if there are any difficulties in the future, _I_ will be there to protect you, not some bodyguard or fake boyfriend or fiancé. I am your fiancé now."

He bent to give Molly a quick, yet possessive kiss, being careful to not contaminate her clothes with his own smoke filled ones, then headed off to take a shower.

Oh yes, he suspected there would be a different kind of fireworks display happening on this Guy Fawkes night, during his conversation with Mycroft.

* * *

 **Author's note 2:** So, the truth is out and Sherlock and Molly are finally together. I hope you enjoyed their interaction and the scene with the fake ring. I had to place a little angst there before the proper reunion! When I was looking at the scene where Mary comes to see Sherlock, in order to keep the continuity of the story correct, I noticed she was not wearing an engagement ring, even though she told Mrs. Hudson she was John's fiancée. Isn't that odd? Have you ever noticed that yourself?

It appears that Mycroft is in some trouble. What do you think will happen next? Are you anxious to find out? What has been your favourite part of the story so far? I initially planned to have the fake ring be crushed, but thought Mycroft wouldn't be as cheap as to provide a glass diamond, it would not have looked real. Anyway, it was more amusing for Molly to realize her action of stepping on it was not quite as dramatically successful as she had hoped.


	5. Getting some Answers

**Author's note 1:** Sincerest thanks to those who have been faithfully reviewing the chapters. I will be acknowledging those readers by name in my final chapter's author's note who have faithfully supported and encouraged me with their feedback throughout the publishing process. Your kindness inspires me to keep slogging away with the constant revisions/editing and proofreading despite my ongoing tendonitis pain issues.

* * *

Molly sat on the sofa, waiting for Sherlock to emerge from the shower. She kept glancing at the ring on her finger. It was so strange seeing a real one there, instead of the fake one she had been wearing for a month. She hoped Mycroft wouldn't be too angry with her about ruining the other one, but it really was the only way to prove to Sherlock that the engagement was not real, and she had been desperate to prove she had not been disloyal to him, that she still loved him and him only.

Molly hoped that Sherlock wouldn't be too angry with his brother either. She had actually grown quite fond of Mycroft over the past two years. His friendship had helped her get through the hard times, and he almost seemed to be like an older brother who wanted to protect her. Those updates on Sherlock had been helpful as well.

Of course, the best news had always been on those rare occasions when Sherlock had managed to procure a phone temporarily and text her with those numbers 143. Molly still recalled the day one of those texts had come in while she was playing a game of chess with Mycroft. She had been so happy that she had not been able to concentrate on the game and Mycroft had won it very quickly.

The water for the shower turned off just as Molly heard the doorbell. She assumed Mrs. Hudson would be on hand to open the door, and she was not wrong. A minute later, Molly opened the door to admit Mycroft.

"Well, hello Molly. I wasn't expecting to see you here," he remarked, a look of surprise on his face.

Sherlock emerged from the bathroom with his hair still damp, wearing only trousers and shirt. "You have some explaining to do, Mycroft," he hissed, stalking up to his brother.

Molly looked between the two men. "Hadn't you both best sit down?" she suggested, seating herself on the sofa.

Sherlock gestured towards the chair which had always been John's, then seated himself in his own chair. He drummed his fingers on the sides of his chair. "Well?" he demanded.

"Well, what?" asked Mycroft innocently, raising an eyebrow as a smile hovered about his lips.

Sherlock leaned forwards and glared accusingly at his brother. "Were you planning on telling me you had arranged for Molly to have a fake boyfriend for her own _protection_?" He stressed the last word.

"You seem a little upset about that," Mycroft remarked mildly, leaning back in his chair and crossing his legs comfortably as if they were having a pleasant conversation.

"Of course I'm bloody upset!" snarled Sherlock belligerently. "You almost ruined everything for Molly and myself."

Mycroft looked with interest over at Molly, then returned his gaze to Sherlock. "Am I to assume that you and Molly have sorted things out in that regard?"

Sherlock leaned forward, gripping the sides of the armchair so his knuckles showed white, even as he narrowed his eyes. "No thanks to you. Were you trying to get her involved with someone else perhaps? Save your little brother from the dangers of romantic entanglement?"

Mycroft rolled his eyes and snorted. "Quite the contrary, as a matter of fact. I was hoping to provoke a reaction from you." His gaze flicked over Molly once more, then back at his brother. "As it so happens, I think Molly is the perfect match for you. She and I have spent quite some time together since you have been gone, and I think she is a fine woman."

Sherlock's expression changed to one of puzzlement as his stiffened posture relaxed slightly. "Then why hand her over to another man? What if they had fallen in love?"

Molly stood and walked over to Sherlock, perching on the edge of his chair. "There was no chance of that happening," she interposed, placing a gentle hand on Sherlock's arm. "For one thing, I have always been totally committed to you. For another, Tom is much more committed to his boyfriend."

Sherlock stared at her in surprise, then looked back at Mycroft. "You knew this?"

Mycroft rolled his eyes again. "Of course I did. Why do you find it so hard to believe I want nothing but your happiness? I even hinted at it this morning - that you go in for that sort of thing now, friends, that is."

Sherlock's lips tightened. "You had the perfect opportunity then, to tell me about this ridiculous thing you've been perpetrating at Molly's expense."

Mycroft leaned forward. "I apologise if I overstepped. My intentions were simply to make sure that Molly would remain free to pursue a relationship with you if she so desired, upon your return." Then his eyes shifted towards Molly. "Your engagement ring appears to have changed shape, I see."

Molly blushed. "I'm sorry, I kind of, uh, stepped on the one you gave me, to prove it was fake, so it is not in the best condition." She stood and fished the misshapen ring from her pocket and handed it to Mycroft.

He looked down at it and gave a dry laugh. "It is just as well I didn't furnish you with a real ring then." He pocketed the now redundant ring and looked up, turning his gaze on Molly who had seated herself once again on the arm of Sherlock's chair, and his brother. "Which of you two is going to tell me about the one that currently adorns your finger?"

"If you must know, Mycroft, I bought an engagement ring for her a few days ago, before I went to see John at that restaurant. There was no reason for you to have interfered in my private life," sniffed Sherlock, who decided at that moment to pull Molly onto his lap, and she gave a small squeak of surprise.

Mycroft's lips quirked in amusement. "Then perhaps you should have told me exactly how things were _before_ you left London."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I told you to keep an eye on Molly, did I not? I told you to give her updates about me as well."

"You could have told me you were in love with the woman, it would have saved me considerable expense," pointed out Mycroft. He huffed out a long-suffering breath. "I suppose I will need to let Tom know his services are no longer required."

"Um, I have a question," ventured Molly, biting her lip and turning her head towards Sherlock, then Mycroft. "How are we going to explain my breakup with Tom and sudden engagement with Sherlock?"

Mycroft shrugged. "I should think that is obvious. You know that Tom looks a little like Sherlock. With my brother back in town, people will simply make the connection that he was a substitute for Sherlock, an unintentional one of course."

Sherlock glared at Mycroft. "He looks like me?"

"Only superficially," Molly assured him, threading her fingers through his.

For the first time Mycroft flushed slightly. "I thought the resemblance might remind Molly of you." He looked so embarrassed that Molly couldn't help herself. She gave a little laugh.

"Were you trying to play matchmaker, Mycroft?" she asked.

He offered her a small smile. "Guilty as charged. However, I would never have attempted to interfere if I didn't believe you are good for my brother," he responded sincerely.

"In that case, thank you, Mycroft," Molly responded, giving him a sincere smile of her own.

The older Holmes stood. "Well, it is getting late, and I had to leave Mummy and Father to come over here."

"What are they doing in London?" asked Sherlock curiously.

Mycroft huffed out a breath. "They want to see their son of course, now that he is officially back from the dead. They are also insisting on me taking them to see a matinee of Les Misérables day after tomorrow." He gave Sherlock a hopeful look. "I don't suppose you would like to take them off my hands?"

Sherlock drew his brows together. "I don't think so, Mycroft. I'm still not pleased with your interference."

Mycroft nodded in resignation. "Well, in that case, I'll send them around to you in the morning. You should probably let them know that you are engaged, at the very least."

Sherlock pursed his lips. "I suppose that would be acceptable."

Molly scrambled off Sherlock's lap, in order to say her goodbyes to her future brother-in-law. "I wish I didn't have to work tomorrow. I'd like to meet your parents," she said in a disappointed voice, glancing at Sherlock, who also stood.

"They will be here for several days. I'm sure Sherlock can find a time for you to meet," said Mycroft kindly. He looked at the pair of them. Sherlock had moved to rest a hand lightly on Molly's shoulder. "Oh and - congratulations to both of you. I am most pleased to know you are to be married, even if it seems a little precipitate."

"I had two years to think about it, Mycroft," Sherlock responded dryly. "I should think that counts for something."

A smile tugged at the corners of Mycroft's lips, and Molly could tell he was actually feeling inordinately pleased at the turn of events. "Well then, I shall leave Molly's care to your capable hands from this point forward. Take care of my friend."

Impulsively, Molly walked forward and gave him a kiss on the cheek. "Thank you for taking care of me while Sherlock was gone, Mycroft."

"Yeah, thanks," said Sherlock grudgingly, shaking his brother's hand.

After Sherlock and Molly had walked to the door as Mycroft took his leave, Molly said to her fiancé, "I suppose I should get going too. Like I said, I have to work tomorrow."

Sherlock sighed. "I understand. We did not get as much time together this evening as I had hoped."

"I know," she agreed wistfully. "Will you...will you kiss me goodnight?"

"I thought you'd never ask." He put his arms around her then lowered his head to her level and covered her lips with his own. _Is it my imagination or does his technique improve every time we kiss?_ she wondered a bit dizzily.

It was some minutes before they stopped, breathing hard.

Sherlock placed his hands on her shoulders. "You have no idea how many nights I stayed awake thinking about you, how many nights I dreamed of you. Thoughts of you kept me going when I was facing the most difficult times."

"Mycroft told me he needed to leave the country, that he was going to have to extract you. Is that what you are talking about?" Molly asked curiously.

He nodded. "That was definitely my lowest point. I was discovered as being a spy. Without Mycroft's intervention, I would probably have been tortured to death. As it was, it was only a few days."

Molly gave him a shocked look. "What did they do to you?"

He shrugged and she saw him wince slightly. "What torturers usually do - they beat the crap out of me and deprived me of food and sleep."

"Oh, my God," she whispered, suddenly realising why he had winced. "Surely you must still be in a great deal of pain from it?"

His lips twisted slightly. "It aches and stings at times. I can't use hot water in the shower yet due to that, but it will heal."

Molly's lips trembled. "I...I want to see what those monsters did to you."

He frowned at her. "Molly, I don't think-"

"Please," she begged. "I need to see for myself that you're going to be okay."

He gave her a long look, then unbuttoned his jacket, followed by his shirt. He slid them off his shoulders, wincing slightly again as the fabric brushed what were undoubtedly relatively fresh wounds. Then he turned his back to Molly.

Molly gasped. "Oh, my poor darling. I don't know how you can bear to have anything touch your skin." Her eyes filled with tears even as he turned back to her, pulling his shirt and jacket up to cover the evidence of his torture once more.

"Believe me, I feel a hundred times better than a week ago." Noticing her distress, he added, "I'll be all right, Molly. You don't need to cry."

"I wish I could do to those men what they did to you." Her hands balled into fists as she spoke the words fiercely even as the tears spilled over.

Sherlock clasped her face between his hands and wiped her tears with his thumbs, then kissed each cheek, before moving his mouth again to her lips.

Molly's arms went up to curl around his neck as she held him to her desperately, realising for the first time that he could so easily have been lost to her forever. She kissed him back passionately, with all the longing in her heart. She loved him so much, and she knew she wanted to be closer. She pressed her body up against his and he groaned, dragging his mouth away from hers.

"Molly, don't do this to me. You're treading a fine line. If we don't stop now, I don't think I will be able to. I want you too much."

"Then don't stop, Sherlock. I love you, and I'm ready for this. I want you, to be with you too," she told him through a haze of desire. Her hands moved to push aside his unbuttoned shirt and feel his chest, and she felt his breath catch at her touch, even as she then reached to his shoulders, nudging the layers aside as he shrugged them off completely.

"God, I love you, sweetheart," Sherlock declared huskily. Then he was kissing her again, more fiercely this time, possessively, as his hands moved to tug her blouse from her trousers and feel her skin. With hands that trembled slightly, he unbuttoned her blouse. It was his turn to help her remove the garment, followed by her bra as he unclasped it with obviously unpracticed fingers.

Molly couldn't help giggling when he drew his mouth away from hers to mutter, "Why can't they just use Velcro on these things instead? It would be a hell of a lot easier."

Her giggles turned to a gasp of pleasure when, task accomplished, Sherlock finally placed a large hand on each breast, stroking her curves as he viewed them appreciatively. "They're so beautiful, love," he told Molly, looking back up to stare into her eyes with dilated pupils.

Molly blushed. "You made a comment once that they were small."

He continued to caress her curves, even as she felt thrilling tingles of sensation run through her. "Merely jealousy at the thought you were dressed up for another man. I know that now, even if I refused to acknowledge it at the time." He lowered his head to place a kiss on each breast in turn, and her chest rose and fell rapidly as her stomach clenched. She had never known the touch of a man could evoke such powerful sensations.

Then he raised himself up once again to pull her closely against his body so their chests were heaving together with the emotions they were feeling. They began to kiss more urgently, allowing the waves of passion to consume them both.

They had waited so long for this, and when Sherlock picked her up in his arms and carried her to the bedroom, Molly knew that at last, this was their time to be together. She was not going to lose him again.

* * *

 **Author's note 2:** So, everything is out in the open now, and Sherlock knows that Mycroft had his best interests at heart.

Have you ever thought about how Sherlock might still have been in pain from his wounds so soon after returning to London? I thought it would be interesting to address this.

Of course, intense situations have a tendency to lead to intense emotions, as you can see at the end of this chapter. I think it would be a very realistic thing to happen after Molly saw the evidence of Sherlock's torture. What do you think?


	6. Making an Announcement

**Author's note 1:** Sincere thanks to those of you who have been reviewing each chapter. Honestly, every email alert that says I have a review puts a smile on my face. It means a lot. As I said in the last chapter, next chapter I will be including an acknowledgment for those who have been supporting me in this way. It is always so much fun to read the perceptions of my readers and to know that they are enjoying my efforts!

* * *

Sherlock's eyes opened to a view of the woman he loved, contentedly nestled in his arms. He couldn't quite believe what had happened. He hadn't been expecting things to turn out this way. He had been prepared to wait for Molly, even if that meant waiting till their wedding night.

He felt no regrets, however, and hoped she would not regret their actions of the night before. Making love for the first time, knowing it was the first time for both of them, had been infinitely sweet. Everything about Molly was soft, from her tender nature to her beautiful body.

He kissed the soft skin of her shoulder and she opened her eyes, blinking at him, then smiling. "Hi, sweetheart," he whispered. "Are you- _happy_?"

Her one hand reached up to caress his cheek gently. "Very much so, Sherlock. More than happy. Last night was more wonderful than I could have imagined."

His arms tightened around her. "I feel the same way. Much as I would like to continue this new aspect of our relationship, it is most likely time for you to get up and get ready for work. Do you start at seven?"

"Actually, I only start at nine today," she responded, looking up at him through her eyelashes.

He raised an interested eyebrow. "In that case, I don't suppose you'd like to–"

Molly giggled and moved her hand down to touch his chest lightly.. "I would not be opposed to continuing our exploration."

Sherlock needed no further invitation as his lips covered hers once more.

Some time later, he stroked Molly's hair and mused, "I think we are going to have to discuss our future living arrangements. Would you be opposed to moving in here before we get married?"

She looked up at him uncertainly. "Are you sure you are ready for that? You've only just settled back in. Living with another person is a big change."

"Ive shared accommodations with John, and it will happen once we are married anyway," Sherlock pointed out reasonably. "Besides," he added with a smile, "I rather like the idea of waking up with you next to me each morning."

Molly sighed happily. "I could definitely get used to that too."

After Molly had left for work, still wearing the same clothes as the day before, (it was fortunate she had not worked the previous day, or people might have wondered why she hadn't changed her clothes,) he reflected, Sherlock prepared for his parents' visit. It would be the first time he had seen them since his apparent suicide. Of course, they knew he had not really died. He could not have kept them in the dark on something like that, but obviously there had been no contact with them while he was away, apart from Mycroft keeping them apprised of his movements.

When Sherlock's parents arrived, they immediately settled themselves comfortably on the sofa, ready for a nice chat. Before they could get too involved in it, however, Sherlock decided he should tell them his news.

He stood before them and cleared his throat a little nervously. "Mummy, Daddy - I have an important announcement to make."

His parents looked at him curiously, but it was Violet Holmes who spoke up. She was always the vocal one. "What is it, dear?"

"I'm getting married." He was not surprised to see their shocked expressions. They had known he had never had any interest in any kind of romantic entanglements.

Mrs. Holmes clasped her hands together. "Well, this is quite a surprise. How could this have happened, when you have just returned to town? Is it your friend, John?"

Sherlock looked at his mother, pursing his lips in irritation. Not her too. Couldn't two men share a flat platonically without there being constant gossip about their sexuality? "I'm not _gay_ , Mummy!"

Violet Holmes shrugged. "Well, you have shown no romantic interest in women _or_ men throughout your life, and your only friends seem to be men, so I hope you can forgive us for wondering."

"Don't drag me into this, dear. I have never ventured an opinion one way or another as to our son's sexual preference," said William Holmes mildly.

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Well, who is it then?" asked his mother impatiently. "Was it someone you met while you were abroad?"

"No. It is Doctor Molly Hooper." At his mothers slight frown of bemusement, he explained, "She is the woman who helped me fake my death. I could not have done that without her."

Violet Holmes beamed in evident relief. "Is she still young enough to give you children?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes again. Apparently his mother was delighted that one of her sons might actually provide her with grandchildren. She had dropped hints over the years to both of her sons, but Sherlock had ignored them. In more recent times, it seemed that his mother had decided to concentrate her efforts on Mycroft, rather than himself, so he was aware this was quite a surprise. "Yes, Mummy. I'd like to get married first before you start hounding me about grandchildren, however," he said dryly.

"Very wise, son," approved his father, with a nod.

"So, how long has this been going on then, with you and your young lady?" questioned Violet Holmes, quirking an eyebrow at him.

Sherlock sighed. Apparently he was to be subjected to further interrogation. "We had a sort of - _understanding_ before I left. I stayed at her flat until the funeral and we, er, got close."

At his mother's pursed lips, he added hastily, "Not _that_ close, Mummy! We agreed that Mycroft would keep her apprised of my activities, and he did so." Of course, he was not about to tell his parents that he and Molly had actually consummated their relationship just the previous night. It was none of their business, and he was a grown man, after all.

"So, how did-" his mother began.

"Enough, Mummy!" he exclaimed, folding his arms and tightening his lips in annoyance. "Must I receive the third degree from you? Can't you just congratulate me and be done with it?"

Violet Holmes backed down then to say, "Very well, Sherlock, dear. Congratulations. I hope you will introduce us while we are still here."

Sherlock nodded. He felt relieved when his parents turned their attention to other topics. He really didn't care to be grilled about his relationship with Molly any further. It was still so new and precious to him.

He was even more relieved by John's interruption, which gave him an excuse to dismiss his parents and turn his attention to the important case he was working on.

Finally, the answer came to him, the break in the case, and it led to a rather exciting evening where he not only saved many lives, but also completely restored his friendship with John.

After the excitement of the evening, it was John's suggestion that they have a little celebration the following day. Sherlock readily agreed, thinking it would provide the perfect opportunity to reveal to his friends that he and Molly were engaged.

As soon as Sherlock arrived home, he texted Molly.

 _Sorry I didn't get to see you today. That case you and I went out on - I figured it out and prevented an attack directed at the members of Parliament. I'll give you the details tomorrow. We are going to have a little celebration drink here tomorrow at six. It can be a double celebration if you would like us to formally announce our engagement?_

 _I'd like that,_ was her response.

 _Oh, and Molly?_ he texted again quickly.

 _Yes_? was her immediately forthcoming query.

He smiled as he typed the next text - _143_.

His smile grew wider at her answer - _433._

That night, as he got into the bed that had never before seemed so large for one person, Sherlock reflected that he would have to persuade Molly to combine their households as soon as possible. He breathed in the lingering scent of Molly's fragrance from the night before and fell asleep thinking about the woman he loved.

The following day, Sherlock was pouring champagne for the assembled company, which consisted of John, Mary, Mrs. Hudson and Greg Lestrade, when Molly arrived. She had obviously gone home from work first and changed. Her pink blouse and skirt looked very feminine, as did her hair, which was down. He smiled at her.

Mrs. Hudson and Mary were discussing potential wedding dates and Mary turned to Sherlock. "You will be there, Sherlock." It was a statement, not a question.

"About that," he started, as Molly moved to stand beside him. "I may be rather busy, planning my own wedding."

The little group looked at him in astonishment, well, at least John and Lestrade did. Mary looked unsurprised, and Mrs. Hudson had a knowing look on her face.

To Sherlock's embarrassment, the elderly woman commented, "I _thought_ I saw Molly leaving your flat yesterday morning." He turned his head to look at Molly, who also had a blush staining her cheeks.

John stood in front of Sherlock and stared at him accusingly. "Why am I always the last to know _everything_? We were together most of the day yesterday and not a word, Sherlock, _not a word_! Do your parents know about this as well as the fact you faked your death?"

"They're my parents, John. Of course I told them," stated Sherlock defensively, even as he slipped his left arm around Molly's shoulders.

Mary laid a placating hand on John's arm. "Don't be angry with him. You just made up your differences."

"Fine," said John grudgingly. "If you were to be with anyone, at least it is with someone I have a good deal of respect for." He extended a hand to Sherlock, who grasped it firmly and gave John a warm smile.

Greg looked from Sherlock to Molly. "This is serious then? Not some sort of elaborate joke?" Then his brows drew together in sudden confusion. "Hang on a minute, I thought you were with some other guy - Tom wasn't it? Someone even told me you were engaged to him."

"My brother hired him to act as a protector for Molly," Sherlock interposed smoothly. "But, the official word to Molly's friends and colleagues is that they broke things off when I returned, because she realised she still had feelings for me."

"So it's a double celebration," Mary said brightly, glancing at John, then at the other engaged couple. "Perhaps we could plan a double wedding as well."

"Oh, that would be lovely!" enthused Mrs. Hudson, indicating for Molly to take the empty spot on the sofa next to Mary.

With a shy smile at Sherlock, who gave a nod of approval, she pecked his cheek and moved over to the sofa.

The three women then began chattering excitedly about wedding matters, while Sherlock looked at John inquiringly, not wishing to antagonise his friend further. "How would you feel about that? A double wedding, I mean."

John shrugged. "Ive learned that what Mary wants, Mary gets. I'd suggest you learn that lesson pretty quickly, if you want a happy marriage." He shook his head. "I still can't believe it - you, getting _married_."

"My mother thought I might be marrying _you_ ," Sherlock confided with a laugh.

John folded his arms in annoyance. "Why is it so hard for people to understand two men can have a brotherly bond without there being anything sexual about it? I've said on multiple occasions that I'm not gay, I've had girlfriends. How much more proof do people need?"

Sherlock's lips twitched with amusement. "People will believe what they want to believe. That doesn't make it true. Perhaps our getting married to women will set the matter to rest once and for all."

"One can only hope," responded John with a huff.

Greg, who had been listening to the exchange with a grin on his face, ventured, "Regardless, I think there will be many broken hearts once you are both married."

Molly spoke up then, looking at the men. "Shouldn't you both be going downstairs to talk to the reporters? There were quite a number of them outside when I came in."

Sherlock groaned. "I had completely forgotten about that. Come on John, let's go."

After dealing with the reporters, the two men returned upstairs to the flat. By the time the guests left, it was almost nine-thirty.

Molly, of course, was the last to leave. "I suppose I should get going as well," she said regretfully. "Early shift tomorrow at work."

She reached for her things, but Sherlock's hand on her shoulder stopped her. "Molly, I have not had the opportunity to kiss you in approximately-" he paused, mentally calculating the hours since she had left him the previous morning, "thirty-seven hours. Do I not merit any type of farewell embrace?"

She turned to face him, curling her hands around his neck and standing on tiptoes, while Sherlock moved his hands to her waist, pulling her into himself. He kissed her, gently at first, then more urgently, feeling that now familiar ache for her, fire spreading through his veins.

Finally, he released her, albeit reluctantly. "I sincerely hope you will agree to move in with me soon," he said huskily, looking deeply into her fathomless brown eyes, which were also dilated with longing.

"You…you could come with me to my place tonight," she offered hesitantly. "I still have the clothes Mycroft left for you when you stayed with me two years ago."

Sherlock pondered for a moment. He had just solved a big case, and he had no appointments scheduled for the following day. The thought of having Molly beside him once more in bed, made his decision easy. "I'll come," he said, then added, as if he needed a valid excuse to stay with her, "In any case, we have matters to discuss, like our wedding, and how your colleagues reacted at work with the sudden change in fiancé."

Molly took his hand, and smiled up at him. "Well then, let's go."

* * *

 **Author's note 2:** So, it's official! Sherlock and Molly are engaged. I hope you enjoy the way I tried to show the scene with his parents and incorporate a bit of canon in having them visit. Did you like their conversation? I hope it gave you a bit of a laugh.

What did you think of Sherlock and John's conversation during the little celebration? No offense to any Johnlock fans out there, but I just had to put in my own perception of them as a pairing in the way John responded to Sherlock. For me, there could never be any pairing for Sherlock but Molly, any other one makes no sense. The men share a brotherly bond, nothing more.

Incidentally, from Martin Freeman's own mouth - (look it up, if you don't believe me), "Me and Ben, we have literally never, never played a moment like lovers. We ain't f***ing lovers." It's hard to argue with words from the horse's mouth, but hey, to each his own!

Show your support for Sherlock and Molly and leave your review and show your loyalty! Let's show the Sherlock fandom that Sherlolly fans are still very much out there.


	7. Wedding Surprises

As soon as they arrived at Molly's flat, she put on the kettle for them to have a cup of tea.

Sherlock watched her, his elbows leaning on the kitchen counter, thinking how lovely she looked with her hair down. "I didn't get the chance to tell you earlier how beautiful you look this evening," he told her. "Will you keep your hair down on our wedding day?"

She smiled at him, as she got the sugar out of the cupboard and set it on the kitchen counter. "I like having my hair down too, when I have the opportunity. So yes, that is my intention."

"Good," he murmured as he stood, then walked around the kitchen counter to stand just behind her. He brushed several silken strands of hair out of the way, so he could press a soft kiss against her neck, and she made a little sigh of pleasure.

"Now tell me, what did your work colleagues think about your sudden change in engagement ring?" He moved away from Molly as he spoke, to allow her to finish making their tea.

Molly's lips curved upwards. "Surprisingly, it was easier than I expected. I think quite a number of people knew how I felt about you before your apparent death. Those who had met Tom knew that he looked a little like you. I just said that you and I had been getting close before you 'died', which is the truth, and your return forced me to realise I had never really been successful in getting over you. I also said that my split with Tom was an amicable one. It isn't as if he and I spent time together with friends anyway. My work life was always separate from my private one."

She brought over the cups of tea to the table, placing one in front of Sherlock, who had seated himself.

"Well, that's one hurdle out of the way," he remarked. "The next is introducing you to my parents." He pursed his lips. "Oh, there's one other thing I should probably tell you."

Molly sat across from him and raised her tea cup to her lips, taking a sip, before commenting, "That sounds rather ominous."

Sherlock cleared his throat nervously. "Well, I may have mentioned to the reporters this evening I was engaged. You know, 'kill two birds with one stone'?" He looked at her closely, wondering if she would be cross that he had been so forthcoming about their relationship to the media, without her consent. To his relief, she did not seem angry at all.

Instead, she smiled. "You were really willing to make it public that way?"

Sherlock stood, ignoring the rest of his tea, and she did the same. His gaze never left hers as he walked around the table to stand in front of her. He placed his hands gently on her shoulders. "I know what I want, and I don't care who else knows. If there's one thing I learned while I was away, it is that you have to reach out for life and grasp it with both hands. I love you. You're mine, Molly, and I'm never letting you go." He could feel the way she trembled at his words.

"Show me," she whispered, just before his lips came down on hers. He kissed her forcefully, demandingly, trying to convey without words how much he loved her, and she surrendered to him willingly as her body invited his touch.

The tea was forgotten as they found together a much more satisfying way to warm themselves.

Some time later, as they lay in Molly's bed, with his arms around her to hold her close, Sherlock asked, "So, did you and Mary discuss where and when we are getting married?" He really didn't mind if the women took care of the details. He'd be happy to just show up on the day.

"Mhm," she murmured. "We thought May would be good."

"Ah, a spring wedding. Sounds nice." He tried to muster some enthusiasm into his voice, but really, what did it matter? They already belonged to one another. Exchanging vows and wedding rings would just be the icing on the cake.

Molly shifted her position slightly so that she could look up at him properly. "You do realise we will be making vows in a church, in front of God as well as other people?"

He hadn't really thought about it before. He had always been a self-proclaimed atheist, but loving Molly had changed things for him. His arms tightened around the woman he loved. "I'm beginning to understand that life is about more than just me, that there has to be a greater purpose. Logically speaking, that would mean something or someone has created that purpose."

Molly pressed a soft kiss to his shoulder. "I'm so glad to hear you say that."

He fell asleep with a smile on his face.

* * *

The next few months passed in a whirl of activity.

Sherlock's parents were delighted with Molly and the way she brought such a steadying influence to their son. Molly reconciled her differences with her only close relative, her mum, and Mrs. Hooper seemed delighted that her daughter was getting married too.

Molly had moved into Baker Street and Mrs. Hudson was thrilled to have another woman around to chat with regularly.

As for Sherlock, he found he had become so used to having Molly in the bed next to him, that he missed her presence when she was on nightshift and he had to sleep alone.

Mary and Molly had become close, doing most of the wedding planning between them, leaving Sherlock and John to go out on cases together.

A few days before the wedding, Sherlock noticed that Molly and Mary were acting rather strangely. He and John had just returned from the successful pursuit of a criminal, and Mary was at Baker Street, talking about the final details of the wedding with Molly.

Sherlock had just opened the door and the women were talking animatedly, but immediately stopped when the men entered.

Sherlock gave them a suspicious look. "Were we interrupting something?"

He could tell by the guilty look on the women's faces that they were hiding something, but he could not deduce what it was. "It's just wedding stuff, honey," Molly told him brightly.

He knew there was more to it than that, but he did not press the matter. He had no intention of getting into a row when the wedding was so close. Besides, Molly had seemed a little edgy lately. John had said Mary too had been that way, so it was obvious the stress of the wedding preparations was getting to both women.

On the night before the wedding, Sherlock vacated Baker Street to stay with John, while Mary went to Baker Street for the night. Sherlock did not sleep very well that night. The spare bed in John's flat was rather uncomfortable, and he missed Molly. He had a sudden, horrible thought. What if she suddenly changed her mind and got cold feet?

He had already been scolded several times for not keeping his experiments completely separated from the food in the fridge, and he knew he tended to be rather untidy. Molly was constantly picking up after him, reminding him to put his dirty dishes in the sink, instead of leaving them on whatever surface was nearest to him when he had finished with eating or drinking. He knew he tended to be a bit of a slob, which would be difficult to change, but he had come up with an idea to make sure the experiments would not contaminate their food, and he planned to tell Molly about it after the wedding.

To his relief, a text came in from Molly in the morning as he and John were getting ready.

 _I'll see you at the church. 143._ So apparently she and Mary hadn't been talking about running off and abandoning their men at the altar, that was a good thing.

He responded with: _433\. Can't wait._

Sherlock was further relieved when John made a comment soon after they arrived at the church. It seemed Molly wasn't the only one acting a little anxious about things.

"Well, I hope Mary's not going to leave me at the altar. She has been rather testy with me lately, especially over the past week. I think the last minute details have been getting to her."

Sherlock chuckled at that and hastened to reassure his friend. "It must be a female thing, because Molly has been acting the same way. She sent me a text earlier, though, which made me feel better. I don't think we have anything to worry about."

Indeed, he was quite correct. When the music began to play and two women began to proceed down the aisle, Sherlock had eyes only for Molly. She was a vision of loveliness in her strapless gown with a full satin skirt. Swarovski crystals glittered on her bodice, skirt and veil. Her hair was also down, as she had promised, styled with loose curls that framed her face, and he had to remind himself to breathe as she walked towards him.

He lifted her veil from her face early in the service, as they had arranged. He scarcely knew what was happening around him, repeating his portion of the vows and listening to Molly, even as John and Mary did the same.

At last came the pronouncement he had been waiting to hear. "And now, I declare you to be husbands and wives. You may kiss your brides, " announced the minister.

Sherlock needed no further invitation. He clasped Molly's face lovingly between his hands and kissed her, a lingering kiss that was really a little inappropriately long for a wedding ceremony. It was only when the minister cleared his throat, that he drew back, a little embarrassed. Molly's eyes were large and luminous, sparkling with unshed tears as she smiled at him, and his heart was so full of love for her, he hardly remembered the congratulations that followed their exit from the church.

It was during the limo ride on the way to the reception, as the brides sat together with Sherlock and John on either side, when Sherlock noticed the women giving each other a conspiratorial look.

"What do you think?" Mary asked Molly.

"Might as well get it over with," was Molly's cryptic response.

Sherlock and John exchanged confused glances.

Mary began, addressing John. "I want to apologise for the way I've been acting lately. I know you think it has been just the stress, but it's more than that."

Here, Molly interposed to Sherlock, "I know you think the same thing." She took his hand and squeezed it.

"Well, yes," Sherlock agreed, and his eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled at his new wife, "but it's understandable. Planning a wedding is a big responsibility, and I am aware that you and Mary were the ones to do most of the planning. You can be forgiven for being a little irritable."

"That's right," agreed John. "At least the hard part is over now."

Sherlock suddenly recalled what Mary had said – _It's more than that_.

Then the answer came to him, the reason the women had cut their conversation short a few days earlier, Mary's irritability as well as Molly's. It was so obvious. Mary was pregnant, and Molly was just a little jealous about it, which explained her own short-temperedness lately.

He felt quite proud of himself and couldn't resist the opportunity to show off, just a little. "Well, Mary, I suppose congratulations are in order for you and John. I hope you know that Molly and I will be there for the three of you."

John stared at him open-mouthed, while Mary laughed delightedly. "Thank you, Sherlock, and John and I will be there for the three of you too."

This time it was Sherlock's turn to open his mouth in astonishment as he looked from Mary to Molly. _I always miss something,_ he thought a little numbly, as he looked at the woman he loved.

"I'm pregnant too, you ridiculous man," she said with a beatific smile.

A huge grin spread over his face as he squeezed Molly's hand and looked over at John, who was still looking rather bemused.

"How did you figure this out before me? I'm a bloody doctor," his friend finally grumbled.

"I'm just as oblivious," Sherlock admitted, as the corner of his mouth lifted into a wry grin. "I just assumed it was Mary's secret, not one being held by both of the women." Then he added, "Can you believe it? We are both going to be fathers!"

John's attention was then diverted by Mary, even as Sherlock's was drawn to Molly.

"Are you...okay with this?" she asked in a low voice, then bit her lip and added, "I know we hadn't discussed having children quite so soon..."

Sherlock lifted a hand to trace her cheek lovingly with his thumb. "We also haven't been particularly careful to prevent that from happening. There were several occasions just last month in which we got a little, uh, carried away."

Then he leaned in to kiss her sweetly on the lips.

Later that night, after the two couples had gone their separate ways following the reception, having determined different hotels and honeymoon destinations would be prudent - they couldn't share _everything_ , after all, Sherlock held Molly close to him in the king-sized bed of their hotel suite.

Her opulent wedding gown, and everything that went with it, lay discarded on the floor beside the bed, along with his own clothes. He traced his hand along her abdomen gently, marvelling at the fact that a new life lay within her.

"I can't believe I missed the signs of three," he murmured, before dropping a kiss on her forehead.

Molly made a little sound of contentment, before saying, "You do realise, Sherlock, that you really are going to have to at least make an attempt to change your ways when it comes to doing your experiments and so on, now that we have a baby on the way, don't you?"

Sherlock smiled at her. It was time to reveal his own little secret. "I've actually been thinking about that, since you've been making a big deal about it lately."

Molly huffed a little in annoyance. "So sorry that I was thinking about the future and how having a baby will change things for us."

"Now, now, love, don't be cross with me," he soothed, giving her shoulder a little squeeze with the hand that was holding her close to himself. "I have already made preparations for a change in my experimentation habits."

She shifted her head to gaze up at him in surprise. "How so?"

"I asked Mrs. Hudson if she would let me convert her basement flat into a laboratory of sorts. That flat is quite unsuitable for tenants, so she was quite amenable to the idea."

Then he gave a little chuckle. "I even mentioned the fact that I wished to do it, so that if and when the time came for you and me to expand our family, that the flat would be in better condition without the experiments in the fridge and my lab instruments on the table. Of course, I did not realise at the time that we would be expanding our family quite so soon."

Molly's hand, which had been resting on his chest, moved up to touch his curls and tweak one gently. "So you really, truly are happy about things?"

He grabbed her hand and kissed the palm. "The only person who could be happier about this is Mummy. She even asked at the reception when we were going to start a family. I thought it best to at least wait until after the honeymoon to tell her." He shifted his position slightly then, so he could claim her lips with his own, showing her how he felt about her and their baby.

Finally he raised his head just enough to say, "I love you, Mrs. Holmes, my wife."

"I love you too, my wonderful husband." The passionate note in Molly's voice brought forth that familiar ache for her, even though it had so shortly before been eased.

 _Well, it is my wedding night, after all,_ he reflected, before allowing himself to be lost in her again, as he always was. His Molly, his wife, his forever love.

* * *

 **Author's note:** Thus ends this particular dream. I had a lot of fun with this story, putting in a double wedding for the two couples as well as having both women expecting at the same time. I also thought it would be fun for Sherlock to figure out Mary was pregnant and completely miss the signs that Molly was pregnant as well.

I do hope you enjoyed this latest story. Favourites/follows and reviews always gratefully accepted.

 _ **Special acknowledgements to the following faithful reviewers.**_

 **TheonewithwheelsASH** \- My most devoted supporter. Thank you so much. I know I can always count on you to venture an opinion on each chapter!

 **SammyKatz** \- You're amazing - thanks so much for giving me ideas that helped make this story even better! I wish more people were like you, willing to make suggestions.

 **Mamabear04** \- You are so much more than a faithful reviewer, you are a dear friend. The fact that you take the time to read all of my stories and still manage to comment on most chapters astounds me. Love you, sister friend!

 **Ad iuficium** \- Andriana, I'm so glad you have made time in your extremely busy schedule to check out another of my stories. Your reviews are always appreciated and you were one of the people who helped me in the early days of my publishing, when I was struggling to establish a niche here. Thank you!

 **Analena** \- So happy you have given my storytelling a look, and been so kind as to review the chapters even as a late starter!

 **Kaoruca** \- Glad you were able to suspend your disbelief enough to give this story a go! Always happy to see those honest reviews from you!

 **Ben-addict Cucumber** \- I really appreciate you especially joining the site just to read and support my work. That means a lot to me!

To those of you who dropped a review here and there, I appreciate you as well. Every piece of feedback is welcome and responded to because I understand the value of readers who encourage me as well in my writing. Without encouragement, the majority of aspiring writers abandon their hard work and become statistics in the graveyard of incomplete stories. Your reviews can and do make a huge difference, don't underestimate your power as a reader.

If I see readers coming to this story late who also review chapters as they go along, I will update this final chapter to reflect their support in my acknowledgements.

Much love, and until next time,

 **GoodShipSherlollipop**

P.s. I am thinking of changing my name to GoodShipSherlollypop, to reflect the British spelling of lollipop and also contain Sherlolly. Thoughts? Keep the name people are used to, or make the change?


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